


trial & error

by dustkeeper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Getting Together, Ignis: Is it gay to let your friend lovingly stroke your hair?, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, terrible attempts at flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustkeeper/pseuds/dustkeeper
Summary: Noctis wants to show Ignis how he feels through the little things. Ignis isn't really sure how to repress his own feelings.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98
Collections: Ignoct Secret Santa 2019





	trial & error

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nychus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nychus/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, nychus! I was your Secret Santa this year. I tried to fuse your prompts of getting together and domestic fluff into one giant fluff fest, and I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the fun prompts and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season!

A light flashed in the corner of Noctis’s eye.

Prompto always stopped by Noctis’s classroom for lunch, partially for the company and partially for the extra portion Ignis always made for him. He remembered one day he gave Prompto a bento box that looked entirely different from his own, and when his friend asked about it, he relayed Ignis’s concern about “what a young man who not only runs four miles a morning but actually eats his vegetables” needed for a healthy lunch. He was pretty sure he saw tears in the blond’s eyes at the thoughtfulness.

Noct couldn’t blame him. Ignis was the most thoughtful person he’d ever met-actually _too_ thoughtful in most cases-and yet he continued to be pleasantly surprised at how perceptive his advisor could be. His childhood friend had always gone the extra mile in his duties, even taking on some responsibilities no one ever asked him to do, including menial tasks around Noctis’s apartment when he was finally able to move out. It felt like since their last argument, though, Ignis had been especially nice to him. Maybe it wasn’t just him, he mused almost guiltily as he watched Prompto lean over to snatch one of the latest tart experiments, but when would Ignis have time to be nice to anyone else?

Ignis always had to be working on _something_ lest his body stop to remember it was a living organism that needed rest and nourishment other than Ebony coffee. Noctis was certain that if by some strange miracle, the endless list of tasks he had surrounding Noct’s wellbeing were all taken care of early in the day with time to spare, Ignis would still find _something_ that had to be done immediately and only with his expertise. That didn’t stop Noctis from making a quiet vow to take more initiative with both his schoolwork and royal duties, trying to take as many notes as he could before Ignis walked in the door each evening.

It was also nice to spend time talking with Ignis about things that didn’t amount to the entire fate of the kingdom, like the latest twist in that period drama Ignis would turn on sometimes or the really cool Easter egg Noctis found in his new video game. He remembered how Specs’ face had lit up when he related one of their new trade regulations to an episode of his favorite show, _Crestholm Abbey_. Even after he did or said something stupid and Ignis would give him this _look_ of utter exasperation, it was… well, it was nice to look at.

Unlike the candid shot Prompto took of him daydreaming about it, which Noctis immediately told him to delete.

“No way! The lighting is just too good! Plus, I bet _someone_ would like to know you were thinking of them so intensely,” Prompto said, making an exaggerated kissy face.

Noctis turned his head away in a vain attempt to hide his blush. A crumbled napkin bounced off his shoulder.

“Come _onnn_ , Noct! You know I’d never tell anyone. Unless you want me to play wingman for you.” Prompto stretched his hands out with a grin. “Love Doctor Prompto is on the case!”

His friend scoffed. “Yeah. No thanks. I have enough love problems.”

“Wow. Didn’t think you’d actually come out and say it,” Prompto said, sounding genuinely stunned. “You must have it pretty bad for him.”

Noctis poked at the pastry on his plate with his fork. “Just… How do you tell someone you like them without outright telling them?”

The blond hummed thoughtfully as he munched on his tart. “Good question. A letter from a secret admirer?”

The idea of Ignis finding a love letter he wrote to him hidden in his desk drawer made him so anxious he wanted to spit the rest of his tart out. “Maybe… even _less_ outright.”

“I dunno, man. Isn’t it just the little things? Like, doing things for them you know would make them happy or a little less stressed out? Buying them their favorite snack, watching their favorite movies for the billionth time, _not_ leaving your dirty socks all over the floor for them to pick up, eating your vegetables,” Prompto listed, dodging the playful smack Noctis reached over to give him.

It wasn’t like Noctis ever confessed that he had a massive crush on Ignis, but they had been friends long enough for Prompto to be able to pick up on things like that. Prompto was also a good enough friend at this point to know how hard it was for him to open up about emotional things. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have confided in him if he was asked to, it was just… hard, to describe what he was really feeling. It was what caused the argument he and Ignis had a few months before.

That argument had been resolved when Noctis stepped up to try and do all that Ignis had been asking of him. Maybe Prompto was onto something there.

“I’ll think about it,” he told him.

“No, really. Clean up your socks, dude. It’s really gross when I hang out at your place before Ignis gets there to clean.”

-

The lights were already on. Ignis closed the door behind him, sliding off his shoes. “Noct? Are you up?”

“Not quite yet,” Noctis’s voice called from the living room. 

All jokes aside, it was unusual for the prince to be up this early on his own. Nervous, he toed on his slippers and peered into the living room.

He sighed. “ _Noct_.”

Noctis glanced up at him from under the jagged curtain he called bangs, holding a steaming clothes iron in one hand. One of his white button-down school shirts was flattened on the ironing board that only Ignis had ever used.

“It’s not your shirt,” Noctis offered.

On one hand, the advisor was hardly going to begrudge the high school student for doing any type of chore. On the other hand, Noctis’s history with household tools that could burn…

“Let me see the damage.” He dropped his bags on the nearby kitchen counter and hurried over to inspect his work.

“Specs,” Noct protested, shoulders slumping. “It’s fine. I Moogled how to iron a shirt.”

“An internet search on a whim is hardly reassuring,” Ignis retorted. He squinted down at the shirt. It _looked_ clean. “Give me the iron.”

“No!” Noctis raised the appliance over his head, as though Ignis wasn’t several inches taller than he was and able to very easily pluck it out of his hand. “I got this.”

“All the same…” Ignis pursed his lips, inwardly debating the merits of allowing Noctis to learn through his own mistakes versus rescuing an innocent dress shirt.

“There are plenty of other things you can worry about,” Noctis protested. “Don’t you have enough on your plate already?”

“You say that as though a fire in the apartment wouldn’t only add to the list,” Ignis pointed out.

“Then go make breakfast before I do.”

He considered that alternative. “Point taken.” 

Ignis tore himself away from the impending disaster to unload the groceries he’d brought over from his apartment: some more eggs so he could make omelets, some more vegetables for him to try and hide within said omelets, and a crate of Ebony. Despite Noctis not drinking the beverage, his stash in the prince’s refrigerator was running dangerously low for how often he’d been doing paperwork on the premises. Come to think of it, he hadn’t needed to replenish his stock at home in quite a while given his usual speed of consumption. 

“Did you get a chance to look over the new bill?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Don’t distract me.” The iron left the fabric with the soft whoosh of steam, and Noctis squinted down at his work like a flummoxed painter admiring his easel. 

_Cute,_ Ignis thought to himself, though he knew Noctis would hate being associated with such a word.

Even though the prince wasn’t looking, he rolled his eyes. “Apologies. I hadn’t realized council reports were such a distraction for you.”

“Only when _you_ remind me of them,” was the mumbled response. 

Ignis allowed himself a secret smile as he cracked the eggs over the pan. The apartment was quiet aside from the hiss of the iron, the thud of his knife slicing the vegetables, and the sizzle of the frying pan. 

He’d folded all the chopped veggies into the omelet when Noctis asked, “What do you think?”

He was holding up his white school shirt, freshly-pressed with no wrinkles to be seen. Ignis’s chest warmed with pride.

“Impeccable,” he praised, and he could see Noctis’s shoulders straighten.

“What can I say?” was his cool response, the prince carefully folding the shirt. “Moogle Search knows everything.”

“I should ask it for the most effective ways to hide vegetables in your diet, then,” Ignis suggested cheerfully.

“Maybe not _everything_ ,” Noctis amended. “I’ll go get another shirt.”

Ignis watched him go with one eyebrow raised. Since when was His Highness so excited about ironing shirts? Especially enough to get up early to conduct research on the process?

The prince reappeared with an armful of dress shirts, some of which Ignis _knew_ he had left unwashed in the laundry room the day before.

“Did you wash those?” he asked, rather safe than sorry.

“Yeah, last night after you left. They were in the hamper, so…”

Ignis frowned. This was highly unlike him. Perhaps there was something going on at school he wasn’t aware of? Would Noctis tell him if he asked? The teen tended to tell people how he felt through his actions rather than his words, something Ignis had been trying to learn how to detect in recent months after he mistakenly took genuine hurting to be childish obstinacy. The advisor didn’t want to make another interpersonal error of the sort. He had to go about investigating this carefully.

“Have trouble sleeping last night?” he inquired, turning his attention back to the omelet. It was nearly done, so perhaps he would have time to make some bacon strips on the side.

“Nah. I just wanted to get it done.”

“Apologies. I’ll be sure to get your laundry done sooner next time.”

“Wh- No! That’s not what I meant,” Noctis protested. “I wanted to do them myself.”

Oh. Perhaps he had been underperforming in his domestic duties. He supposed he had been focused on some new developments in the Citadel, which unfortunately took priority over his work at Noct’s apartment. Still, he doubted Noctis could perform much better at his current level of experience.

“If I appear to be slacking in my duties, I would appreciate a more forthright indication,” he stated. “It is important that a prince knows how to be both polite yet firm in giving critique to those who need it.”

“I… You…”

Noctis sounded defeated. Confusingly, he also looked hurt, the very thing Ignis had been trying to avoid. He also appeared to have paused mid-stroke of the clothes iron.

“Don’t leave the iron on the fabric for too long.”

Noctis picked up the iron to reveal a brown scorch mark on the white fabric. He stared down at his mistake in dismay and groaned. “You distracted me.”

“Apologies.”

“Stop apologizing! Just… stop.”

He wondered where he had gone wrong in his deductions. The frying pan continued to sizzle. Ignis turned the knob to ‘off.’

“Breakfast is ready.”

It took them a minute of eating silently at the small wooden table for Noctis to finally explain.

“You shouldn’t have to do all these extra things for me,” he muttered repentantly. “I want to learn how to do things myself.”

Ignis considered this, chewing a piece of omelet. “I suppose you are at an age when you should be doing these things yourself.”

“Stop acting like you’re my nanny or something,” Noct grumbled. “You’re only two years older than I am.”

That was certainly the last thing he ever wanted Noctis to think of him as. He set his fork down and stared Noctis straight in the eye. “You’re right. I don’t do things for you because I think you can’t do them yourself,” Ignis said patiently. “I do them because I want to.”

“You really want to have to cook every meal for me?” Noctis asked, incredulous. “Drive over from your apartment or the Citadel just to make sure I’m eating greens?”

“Well, I wish my prince a long and healthy life,” he replied. “Even when he burns my dress shirt.”

“That wasn’t your…” Noctis paused mid-lift of his fork, realization dawning on him. “Oh. I’ll buy you another one.”

-

“Maybe you have to be a little more overtly romantic with it?” Prompto suggested at lunch the next day.

“How?”

The blond hummed in thought. “If you did those sorts of chores together, you’d have more opportunity to make it physical. It’s like in that one movie about dancing where the guy has to teach the girl how to do the dance moves and gets _way_ into her personal space.”

“I don’t think you can dance without getting into someone’s personal space,” Noctis pointed out.

“Uh, the cha-cha slide? The macarena? The funky chocobo?” Prompto listed them off his fingers. “Those are like the friend zones of dances.”

“Huh. I would have thought the funky chocobo would work for you,” he teased good-naturedly. “Anyway, dancing isn’t really something Specs does a lot.” His advisor had done some ballet lessons as a kid, but he seemed more interested in gymnastics and fencing these days than even dancing at the Citadel balls.

“Because he doesn’t have the right _incentive_ ,” Prompto countered, waggling his eyebrows.

Noctis snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have your looks, your pretty face,” the blond flailed his arms around like the villain in the cartoon he watched as a child, “and don’t forget the importance of _body language_!”

The prince laughed. “Why am I friends with you again?”

Dancing aside, he decided to try his luck again that night when Ignis was cooking dinner.

“Can I help?”

Ignis paused taking the ingredients out of his bags to look at him reproachfully. “… I can assure you that there will _still_ be vegetables in the end result.”

Was that really all Ignis thought of him? Even after their conversation the previous morning? “That’s not it. I just… I dunno. If I’m gonna eat the food, I should help make it, right? Sounds fair.”

The chamberlain didn’t relinquish his intense stare, but it softened around the edges. “Very well. Some assistance in chopping the Lucian tomatoes would hasten things up. They’re next to the chopping board on the counter.”

“Sure.” Noctis found the promised fruit and cutting board next to the knife the chef was likely intending to use. He took it in his right hand, rudely reminded of what Prompto had mentioned before about romance movie tropes. If he fumbled a bit with the chopping, would Ignis press up behind him, taking his hand in his to demonstrate the proper slicing method…?

“Problem?”

“Oh, uh,” the prince shook off the image, “how do you want them cut?”

“Into quarters, if you please,” was the simple response. He could hear the splat of the anak meat onto Ignis’s own workspace. They were having one of Ignis’s favorites: anak cutlets with tomato paste.

“Quarters…” Sounded simple enough. Noctis rotated the tomato in his free hand, wondering what that was supposed to look like.

“Quarter means four.”

“I… knew that.” He would have made a face at him if he knew Ignis would have looked up from his work. No wonder Ignis thought he had to do everything for him.

He held the tomato on the chopping board and readied the knife. _Well, guess it’s time to prove him wrong_. He wasn’t as graceful or quick about it as Specs always was, but he made sure to make the cuts as clean as he could, remembering to leave out the stems from the mix.

He could hear the heavy thuds of the hammer as it pounded at the meat. Noctis wondered why Ignis hadn’t given that duty to him, as it seemed to rely on less precision. Either he had more faith in Noctis than he let on or he just really needed that stress outlet. Maybe he should have just given Ignis a stress ball as a token of his affections instead.

Noctis felt like he was starting to get the hang of chopping tomatoes though. He had a bowl of tomato chunks that didn’t look too misshapen. Hell, they didn’t look too far off from how Ignis’s usually looked.

“Done. What do you think?”

Ignis stepped up behind him, peering over his shoulder and humming appreciatively. Noctis swore he could feel the small vibration of the noise against his shoulder.

“Nicely done, Noct.”

“Thanks.” The prince turned his head so he could meet his friend’s eyes with a shy smile. “I learned from watching the best.”

Was that a blush? Maybe he was just projecting his own feelings onto Ignis. Or… maybe he should run with it. Was there a step two for this scenario?

Ignis pulled away before he could decide. “Yes, well, now it’s time to cook the tomatoes.”

“Is it now?”

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Pour them in the pot and bring them to a boil over high heat on the stove. I’ll continue cutting the cutlets.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be stewing over the stove.” He flicked the stovetop on and placed the pot of tomatoes on top.

A chuckle. “Keep stirring. Be careful not to let the tomatoes burn.”

“Oh, I don’t think this conversation is steamy enough for that.”

Okay. That was pretty bad. He glanced over at Ignis, but he was facing the other counter, so he couldn’t read how he felt about that one. Damn. He should have known better and prepared a list of punny pick-up lines. Or really prepared anything in advance.

Two minutes of silent regret passed before Ignis was up against his shoulder again, pouring a cup of something into the pot. “Some olive oil.”

Noctis leaned towards him, trying to touch as much of him as he could. “Extra-virgin?”

_Really_? he asked himself.

“Hmm. Quite the contrary.”

_REALLY_? he didn’t ask Ignis.

“And then we add some sea salt,” Ignis continued in that same dry tone of his, reaching around Noctis with his other arm to sprinkle the ingredient into the pot. Was this flirting? Was he just reading into this?

Ignis took the pot off the stovetop. “And _then_ we push the tomatoes through a large sieve using a flexible spatula.”

Okay, _that_ was dirty no matter how you said it.

“Would you like to do the honors, Highness?” Ignis offered the cooking equipment to him.

He took the sieve and spatula from his hands. “Let me at that flexible spatula.”

Ignis’s expression was carefully blank, unlike Noctis, who cringed visibly at his own response.

It was only somewhat consoling to pretend that, instead of skin and seeds, he was really using the sieve to isolate every embarrassing moment of his life. It couldn’t stop him from wondering just what Ignis was thinking, how he felt, what he took from this whole interaction…

Noctis knew Ignis loved puns, but did he, like, _love_ puns? Maybe he was just being bold instead of cringey. It… it kinda felt like this was working. It didn’t help that everything Ignis said sounded sexy thanks to that stupidly-attractive voice of his, the jerk.

The tomato paste and the breaded cutlets were placed in the oven, and Ignis shut the door before wiping his hands on his apron. “Unfortunately, it will take a few hours to cook. We’ll need to find a way to occupy ourselves until it’s done.”

“I can think of a few things,” Noctis suggested slyly, though he couldn’t muster the whole confidence to look him in the eye.

Ignis raised a brow at him, then smiled. “I love it when you talk duty to me. Let’s get a jump start in the notes from the council.”

“Wait, what?” Talk about a buzzkill.

“Apologies. Did you have another activity in mind?” The advisor started sorting paperwork on the dining room table.

There was no way Noctis could answer that question seriously. “I guess not.” And it’s not like he really _minded_ doing paperwork when Ignis took the time to help him through it. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

-

Ignis liked to think he was well-versed in most topics that warranted serious attention. Interpersonal relationships were not one of them.

It’s not as though he had sufficient practice over the years. Perhaps his passion for his work gave the impression that he was not open to lighter conversation or even physical affection. Prompto had once given him what Noctis laughingly assured him was one of his “platonic butt smacks” in greeting before realizing his mistake and literally sprinting off into the horizon. True, that was certainly an act he would never have consented to, but he hadn’t intended for the blond to avoid him for two weeks straight because of it.

In truth, there was a part of him that longed for affection, both platonically and even romantically, though he had long accepted that the latter would always be beyond his reach. It wasn’t as though he had time to go out and woo people. He wouldn’t even know how to begin doing so, even if he found someone he fancied. Well, someone else, other than the person he had made the mistake of falling for already.

He never viewed himself as a babysitter or parental figure or even a caretaker for the prince. No one had ever asked him to pick up the household tasks Noctis was going to need to learn should he move into his own apartment. He merely saw the workload from school and royal training that Noctis was taking with him, assumed that a young man not used to doing any chore for himself would struggle learning those things too, and then realized his self-taught culinary skills would be helpful to him as he transitioned. It was polite to clean up after himself in the kitchen, of course, and while he was there, he might as well clean the clutter Noctis left around the whole apartment. A couple years later and suddenly he was spending more time at his friend’s apartment than his own. Their laundry had even started getting mixed up, as the prince had proven with his staining one of his favorite dress shirts.

He had meant to aid the prince, to help him through such a new and difficult section of his life as he prepared to take on a fatal throne someday, but perhaps he was merely stifling him. It seemed as though something was prompting Noctis to try his hand at various household tasks that he had previously been content to allow Ignis to complete for him. However, he hadn’t given Ignis any indication of just _what_ was prompting him. He had assured Ignis it wasn’t a lapse in his own performance – though the most recent bill the minister of agriculture had crafted was taking much more downtime than Ignis was used to with those sorts of things – and the only other explanation he could think of was that he was trying to prove himself somehow. Prove what, and to whom? Was he trying to say something to Ignis? He wanted to ask Noctis bluntly, but the teen hated tackling emotional issues head-on, and he didn’t want to add any more stress to him. So, he seemed to be left with some sort of signal he was in no shape to decipher.

Ignis liked to think he had improved on picking up the hidden messages Noctis liked to convey through his words and actions, but his own feelings were blurring them recently. When Noctis had offered to be his sous-chef for dinner, for example, it had sounded as though he had been attempting to flirt through their banter. Ignis himself could barely look Noct in the eye; everything he said made his face flare up, not to mention the way he seemed to lean in to his touch…

It was easy to get carried away and return those supposed advances. But they couldn’t have been romantic advances. The idea of Noctis pursuing him of all people romantically was laughable. The prince had long ago confessed to liking boys, of course, but not boys as bland and boring as Ignis.

He must have merely been reading into things. He still had much to learn about social cues, after all. He had been expecting some sort of educational course in body language for his advising work, but there had only been lessons in diplomatic discourse. He would sooner resign than ask Clarus or Cor for lessons in interpersonal relations, especially of the romantic variety. Perhaps he should take a page out of Noctis’s book and Moogle Search it.

“Body language” resulted in a myriad of broad takes on the subject, including a rather crudely-written pop song. He debated for a moment on whether he should search “romantic body language” or “flirtatious body language” before imagining a scenario in which some Crownsguard – maybe Cor – had to go back through his internet search history. He closed the browser.

Gods, he was pathetic, trying to convince himself that there was even a microscopic chance that Noctis was trying to flirt with him. Even if it appeared that way, it was not worth sabotaging his rekindled friendship with the prince over confirming it. The daydreams were safer, anyway. He’d have to settle for longing from afar like the schoolgirls that peered over the shoulders of Crownsguard when the prince made public appearances.

Only he had something better than that: a chance to know and befriend the real Noctis behind the prince. And, he mused as he closed his laptop to begin sorting through the physical paperwork he was forced to carry with him, he was in a position to be the friend that Noct needed right now, feelings or not.

-

“I’m home,” Noctis called. The hall light was on, but the usual acknowledgement from Ignis didn’t come. He peered around the corner into the living room and frowned. Ignis was there, but he looked exhausted, papers scattered on the dining room table in a mess of multicolored highlights and furious pen scribbles. His glasses were off so he could press his fingers up against his brow.

Noctis slid his school bag to the ground next to the shelf. “What’s up?” he asked quietly. “Headache?”

Ignis sighed. “Quite.”

It must have been pretty bad if he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Noct’s heart clenched in sympathy. He wondered if he’d taken any medicine for it, or maybe even a potion if it was that bad. Then he thought of something.

“Can I try something for it?”

Ignis glanced up from rubbing his temples, but Noctis couldn’t tell what he thought of his request. “Suppose it couldn’t hurt any worse.”

Oh. Okay. Noctis hadn’t thought as far ahead as Ignis agreeing to play out his daydream. Unintentionally agreeing, that is. And it wasn’t a daydream, just… a friend helping out a friend. Platonically, and probably very poorly, because he’s never done anything like this before.

Swallowing some courage, Noctis circled around to the back of the chair. Ignis tilted his head back to look at him, curious, and the prince very carefully placed a hand over the top of his head, startling him. The blond didn’t pull away, though, so neither did he.

“Just… relax. And tell me if this makes it hurt worse.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the nerve-wracking image of Ignis staring up at him expectantly so he could focus on his connection to the Crystal.

Noctis didn’t use his magic without flasks often. To be honest, he hadn’t really used magic often at all. But the lessons his father tried to instill in him came to mind clear as day, as most cherished memories of his father did: “ _Our magic comes from the Crystal, but it is channeled through our soul. You need only think of how you want to wield it for the Crystal to respond._ ” So, he tried not to think of his nerves or how awkward this was. Instead, as he combed his fingers through Ignis’s soft hair – and oh gods he was combing his fingers through Ignis’s hair – he focused on how he wanted Ignis to not be in pain anymore, how much he never wanted Ignis to feel any pain at all. He thought about how he wanted Ignis to feel like how he always made Noctis feel: safe, supported, and strong, knowing someone had his back if he ever messed up.

He felt Ignis arch up into his touch, and Noctis thread both sets of fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. He could feel the tingling of magic coursing through his fingertips, as well as the silky strands he’d always secretly yearned to touch. He wondered what Ignis was feeling. Was this helping him? Noctis wasn’t sure if he wanted him to feel completely at ease under his touch or if he wanted him to feel the same chest-pounding excitement he was struggling to restrain.

He wouldn’t have been able to say how long he stood massaging his advisor’s head, but it took effort to finally break the contact, even as he felt his magic fall into stasis. Ignis seemed just as reluctant to lower his head from where he had subconsciously tried to follow his hands.

Noctis made an effort to breathe out the air he was holding as quietly as possible, stepping back. “So, uh… Did that help? I… I haven’t done that to anyone else before. Not that I _would_ -” Wait, what was he even saying? “I mean… Did that make your headache go away at all?”

Ignis’s head hung back over the top of the chair, his eyes looking a bit glazed even without his glasses. His lips were parted as if he wanted to say something but the sound just wouldn’t come out of his throat. His cheeks burned in the dimly-lit living room. Noctis reached out a hand to check his temperature, fearful he made Ignis sick somehow by using his magic, but that seemed to snap Ignis out of his daze.

“No – I mean, yes, it helped,” he sputtered, scrambling up from his seat. “I… I really feel much better now, thank you.”

He practically launched himself onto the table, sending papers soaring in his frantic attempt to collect them. Noctis himself couldn’t move. Ignis didn’t look _better_ , but he also didn’t look like he had a headache either.

“Specs,” Noctis tried to regain his attention, to sort through whether Ignis was somehow given a high fever from the Crystal’s magic, but Ignis seemed intent on ignoring him. “Ignis.”

“Now that it’s gone, I realize I have left something important back at my apartment.” He was hugging his briefcase and a wrinkled stack of papers to his chest like a feathery pillow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“ _Ignis_ ,” Noctis called out a little louder, but Ignis was already halfway out the door. He could hear the click of it locking behind him, as if he were trying to barricade himself from ever speaking to the prince again.

Ironically, he felt a headache of his own coming on, looking back over their exchange and wondering if he overstepped. Ignis had agreed to the experiment – maybe he hadn’t been as upfront about exactly what he had wanted to do to him, but he hadn’t seemed to mind until it was over – and he even looked as though he’d been enjoying it while it was happening. Had he just ruined everything? A lifetime of friendship gone because he had to go and be weird about his massive crush on Ignis?

He pulled out his phone, intent on getting advice from Prompto or maybe even Gladio on what just happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to press the call button. The idea of calling Ignis himself to try and explain his motives made throwing himself off the Rock of Ravatogh into lava sound more appealing, so that was out of the question. Gods, why was he so terrible at everything? How was he supposed to run a kingdom like this?

In his haste to leave, Ignis had left all the ingredients for dinner uncooked in the refrigerator. Smoked nebula salmon was something he’d theoretically want to learn how to cook, but in his current state, he’d probably just burn down the apartment. Instead, he decided choking down the leftover tomato paste he found in here was a worthy punishment.

-

Perhaps if he had allowed himself to think longer on his current predicament, he would have realized that asking Gladio of all people to talk over lunch about that evening’s events was more humiliating than it was worth. Out of all his friends and even acquaintances, however, Gladio was likely the most well-versed in the subject of romance, so he wasn’t sure whom else to turn to.

They had barely sat down at a table in the Citadel café before Ignis asked quietly, “Gladio, if I ask you a question, do you promise to never speak of this conversation to any other soul?”

Gladio lowered the oversized water bottle he had been drinking from to give Ignis his undivided and uneased attention. “Huh. Sounds serious. You have my word, Iggy.”

“If a friend offered you a… a rather sensual scalp massage upon learning you had a headache, would you consider that a sexual exchange?”

Well, it was rather rude for Gladio to laugh at that. He frowned.

“It was a serious question, Gladiolus,” he reprimanded.

“No, no, I’m sorry, Igs,” Gladio said placatingly. “It’s just… wow. That is one helluva question.”

Ignis sighed. “It _is_ quite the conundrum, I must say.”

“I guess it depends on whether or not you both want it to be. Though, I can’t say I have ever offered any of my friends a platonic sensual scalp massage.” Gladio’s coughed, but he valiantly restrained another set of chuckles.

“So, one would assume that it’s romantic in nature?” Ignis concluded.

“Seems like it. It might depend on the person. Who offered it to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well… since you already gave me your word that you wouldn’t speak of this to anyone…” Ignis was going to be remorseful of this whole exchange no matter what else he said, so he took the plunge to lean in and whisper across the table, “It was Noctis.”

“Whoa. Seriously?” Gladio’s eyes were wide. “Noct offered you a sensual scalp massage?”

“He gave me one,” Ignis confirmed. “And please stop using that term for it. It’s not helping.”

“ _Noctis_ gave you a…” He trailed off, slumping back in his chair. Ignis had never seen Gladio so stunned. “Yeah, _no_. Noctis doesn’t go around offering to touch people’s heads for nothing. Actually, are you sure it was Noctis? Do we have an imposter situation here I should tell Cor about?”

“Imposter or not, you repeat one syllable of what I have told you here and I will not hesitate to end the Amicitia line prematurely.”

Gladio held up his hands, conceding. “Okay, okay, I gave you my word. It just doesn’t sound like Noct’s usual show of friendship. You gotta know that, for him, that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I’m aware. It’s just that I recognize friends can be physically affectionate with each other without intending a romantic advance,” Ignis argued. “I fear I may be interpreting his gesture of good will in the wrong way. Who knows what physical displays of affection he and Prompto give each other when I’m not around to watch?”

“Have you asked him about it? Because while I’m pretty sure that’s the only time he has ever touched another human head, I can’t speak for him,” Gladio said, frustratingly logical.

“He did say he had never done that to anyone else before,” Ignis remembered. It had been a relief to hear, actually. The idea of Noctis getting that…intimate, for lack of a better word, with anyone else stung.

“Did he now?” Gladio looked amused for astrals only knew what reason. “Did he say anything else about it? What happened after?”

He blushed. “I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t let him say much. I left in a hurry.”

“Poor kid,” Gladio sympathized. He added after Ignis’s expression of betrayal, “What? Again, outright physical contact isn’t in his comfort zone. For him to make such a big move and then be immediately rejected probably hit ‘im hard.”

“I didn’t _reject_ him,” Ignis protested. “I…I wasn’t prepared to… to respond.”

“Well, are you ever gonna be? Or are you going to be one of those advisors that barely makes eye contact during strategy meetings?”

“Of course not,” the chamberlain refuted, aggravated. “I promised never to leave his side.”

Gladio contemplated this for a long moment. “What are you afraid of from this? That he meant it romantically, or that he didn’t?”

Ignis felt like the dot of a sniper’s rifle was on his forehead. It didn’t help that Gladio seemed intent on awaiting his vocal response.

Ignis didn’t even think he’d be able to lie about it anymore. Having Noctis’s fingers sift through his hair, massaging his scalp… well, it was more than his mortal body could take. He had long dreamed of interactions such as this: Noctis stealing a shy kiss from his lips, sliding closer together on the couch while watching one of the films he’d turn on sometimes, wrapping an arm around his prince’s waist in bed. It was terribly inappropriate, of course; not even simply due to his station, but also due to Ignis’s desire to not make his friend uncomfortable. His having feelings for Noctis did not mean he had the right to push his feelings onto him unwarranted, and if he ever let himself get too carried away in his fantasy, he could make an embarrassing error.

He'd never expected Noctis to actually make the first move, despite his fantasies. If this was it, if he really wanted Ignis like _that_ , he was faced with a new fear entirely: not a Noctis that never thought of him that way, but of one that did, and where that could lead them.

Yet, “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of him,” was all that came out of his mouth.

Gladio chuckled. “I’d be more worried about the other way around. Still, he understands his position. Give him a little more credit than that.”

“So you’ve said,” Ignis said, recalling their exchange after that one fateful argument he and Noctis had when Regis needed a cane.

“And was I right then? Yeah. If you’re going to keep coming to me for advice you gotta use it,” Gladio said cockily. "Shields aren't all brawn and no brain, y'know."

As much as Ignis hated to fuel the man's ego anymore than he already had, he knew the only way to ascertain the prince's true feelings really was direct conversation. He wouldn't let Noctis down again, he decided as he left the Citadel that afternoon, carrying his briefcase and bravery in a strong grip.

-

Noctis would probably have been sulking on the couch with a duvet wrapped around him like a cloak even if the heater hadn’t stopped working. Still, he would have been a lot more comfortable. He’d be able to move, even, instead of having frozen limbs.

He’d even probably be able to warp out the window when he heard Ignis’s voice call from the front door.

“Noct?”

He sounded almost as nervous to be there as Noctis was. He tugged the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. “Here.”

Ignis appeared in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t turn to see his face. He didn’t need more reasons to be uncomfortable at the moment.

“Why isn’t the heater on?”

“Broken,” Noctis grumbled. “Couldn’t find the number.”

He soon heard a muffled voice from the other end of Ignis’s phone call.

“Yes, the heater appears to be broken at this apartment…”

He wondered if Ignis would stay despite everything, the chill of the apartment and the heat of their last encounter, making dinner as if it was just a normal Friday evening. He’d probably premade a meal that he’d plop off on the counter with the paperwork before fleeing for the hills.

“May I?”

He glanced up to see Ignis standing over his huddled form, a small smile on his face. Noctis nodded at him, though he wasn’t sure what he had meant until Ignis gently took one end of the duvet and joined Noctis beneath it, thighs and arms pressed against each other. The room was suddenly a lot less cold, but he still couldn’t move. He didn’t think he wanted to.

“It appears to be a building-wide malfunction,” Ignis was saying. “They have people working on it right now, but it will take some time. For now, my apartment has a functional heater and a spare bedroom.”

“You don’t have to,” Noctis said, not wanting to take advantage of Ignis’s kindness when they were… well, he wasn’t sure yet.

Ignis hummed non-committedly. “I owe you an apology, and an explanation.”

Noctis tilted his head to face him. Ignis was staring straight ahead, face as composed as ever. He could have sworn he saw it falter a little all the same.

“I told you once that I did things for you not because I thought you incapable of doing them for yourself, but because I wanted to do them for you,” he said quietly, Noctis straining to hear him against the pounding of his own heart. “I want to do them for you because I care for you.”

The sentiment warmed him, but he still prepared himself for the oncoming disappointment. This was Ignis letting him down gently, trying to reinstate their prior friendship to only just that. He’d expected as much but it still hurt.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Noctis replied, trying not to show any sign of dismay. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“I care for you more than you know,” Ignis said, “and I must confess… it goes beyond a feeling of friendship.”

Wait. Was he…?

“I may have been misconstruing our recent… interactions,” the advisor kept talking, “but they appeared to me as indications that you may have reciprocated my – my romantic intentions. So, last night, when I ran out… I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’m sorry.”

Had he really just confessed? Noctis was squeezing Ignis’s hand in his before he even realized his arm had moved.

He felt a small squeeze in return, but Ignis’s voice was cautious, “I have to ask you to be explicit in your intentions in return, because as much as I’d love your hand in mine either way, given the context of this conversation, I might take it as evidence that you return my-“

“I like you!” Noctis blurted out, much less eloquent than Ignis had been even in his own nervous rambling. “Like… a lot. Romantically.”

“Oh,” Ignis said. “It’s… good to hear.”

“Yeah… it is.”

He felt Ignis chuckle against his shoulder. Noctis couldn’t help but laugh himself, though whether it was out of humor or incredulity he wasn’t sure.

“Sorry. I guess I’m not as romantic as I want to be,” the prince confessed, grinning at his advisor.

“Well,” Ignis said, bringing their joined hands up to his lips, “should you like to practice, we could add it to your other lessons.”

“Don’t want me to Moogle Search it?” Noctis asked, leaning in.

Ignis hummed, loosening his grip to slide his fingers down Noctis’s palm. “Some things really are better to learn through trial and error.”


End file.
